


Another Collection Of Short Works

by TheRoarOfAtlas



Category: BioShock, Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Fallout 4 - Freeform, Gen, Mass Effect 2, Rapture (Bioshock), video games - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2018-12-18 11:46:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11873703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRoarOfAtlas/pseuds/TheRoarOfAtlas
Summary: A place to put all the drabbles I've written for things that aren't wrestling-related.If you like what you read, check out my Tumblr at concussed-to-pieces.tumblr.com as I'm a bit more active on that platform.Enjoy!





	1. BioShock: Who Is Atlas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been ten years since the release of BioShock, since 'would you kindly?' first came slinking into our ears. I give you this drabble in honor of one of the finest games I've had the pleasure to play. Obviously, there will be spoilers as far as plot goes. But if you haven't played the game yet...what are you waiting for?!

Sometimes his stomach would drop out when he remembered he wasn’t _actually_ Atlas. Frank knew he needed to be careful when it came to that. The chemical, pheromone-riddled air down here tended to make one a little prone to _hallucinations_ , delusions. He caught himself talking in the accent when he didn’t have to. Shit, he’d gotten _emotional_ the other day thinking about his “ _beautiful wife Moira an’ wee baby Patrick, trapped in the submarine._ ” Oh, this was a _slippery_ slope.

 

The kid had made it in just fine, of course he had. Atlas– _Frank_ would never forget the sick chill he got down his spine the first time _would you kindly_ worked its magic on the finished product.

 

“ _Would you kindly pick up a crowbar or somethin’?_ ”

 

It was easy to slip into a conversation, his accent’s brogue lending a warmth to the phrase that somehow made _using_ it a little less horrifying to him. Fontaine could barely believe himself sometimes, the creature he’d become. Buying a bundle of tissue and nerves and growing it in a lab, training a child to respond to the command with unquestioning obedience.

 

“ _Break that puppy’s neck,_ _ **would you kindly**_ _._ ” The little boy who was forced into adulthood through Lot one hundred eleven wept and pleaded with Suchong even as his grip tightened on the small mutt in his lap. At one year, Jack already had the strength and physique of a nineteen year old. The puppy stood no chance.

 

Frank hadn’t been able to watch that. He knew Suchong was sick, but if he’d known he was just going to _kill_ the dog…

 

Shit, he wouldn’t have let little Jackie get so damned attached to the thing. Atlas had been young once, too.

 

 _Frank_.

 

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily. He had started growing his hair out ages ago, trying to better look the part of working-class Dublin do-gooder. Hell, he’d even found one of those scally caps. Taken to wearing it around the place.

 

The more he thought about this the more muddled he got. Jack was out there in the dark and damp of Rapture while he was holed up in here like a king, ruminating in the silence on which one of him was real. _Who is Atlas?_ He started pacing, snapping his suspenders absently. _Who is Frank?_ Fontaine was a madman, someone who would commission a maniac scientist and bleeding heart Tenenbaum to further his climb. What kind of man bent a child (for though the boy might _appear_ adult, he was barely out of the toddler stage) to his will? Bastard child, lab-grown _spawn_ of Andrew Ryan, trained to heel like a dog for Fontaine.

 

Despite all that, Jackie was a good boy. He took everything in stride, not a word of complaint from him. And the Little Sisters…he probably couldn’t comprehend the kinship he felt towards them, all of them byproducts of the same terrible experiments. Jack was just more weaponized. Plasmid after plasmid, needle after needle. The wrench came down again and again and each time the boy rose back up in its wake a little angrier, a little less inclined to caution.

 

Frank wavered again. He was so damn tired of _acting_ good, of remembering in the middle of some heartfelt diatribe that he was, _in fact_ , the one who had started this massacre rolling. Some days it was miles easier to just forget, to just embrace the idea of _being_ Atlas. Thick accent, kindhearted, tired but still fighting to better the nightmare he and the rest of the working class had ended up in.

 

 _Who is Fontaine?_ The man who created Fontaine Futuristics, the man who would twist surrendered little girls into harvesting monsters and men into guardian machines. _Who is Atlas?_ The man who would rest all his hopes on some topside stranger, the man who urged and cajoled a damn _child_ on a bloody path of destruction across the underwater city for the sake of his wife and baby.

 

 _Would you kindly?_ Sometimes Frank wondered whether the phrase was a trigger for Jack or himself.

 

Jackie had gone dark in Fort Frolic. Cohen, that damn twice-spliced _lunatic_ , wasn’t quite as mad as he seemed. Sly bastard nixed all the surveillance and _something_ had turned the old shortwave radio into nothing more than a beat-up paperweight. It had been _hours_ Atlas sat there, pacing himself raw as he hoped and prayed that the boy would make it out alive.

 

 _For Patrick and Moira_.

 

Frank kept forgetting he’d fabricated his wife and child. That alone should be enough of an indicator that he was in too damn deep. Kept forgetting that he’d taken those names from a poster for one of Sander’s silly musicals.

 

The crackle of his radio drew him out of his musings and he scrambled for the desk, pushing that cap back on his head. “ _There_ ya’ are, I been tryin’ t’ raise ya’ for a dog’s age!” He snapped, his brogue thick with worry. “Wasn’t sure if Cohen had sent you on your damn merry way, Jackie.”

 

The radio clicked a few times, static still prevalent. He could hear breathing though, could hear Jack’s footsteps. There was a hitch to his gait. The boy had been injured. Atlas felt a bone-weary ache in Jack’s motions. He’d been running for hours on nothing but adrenaline, stale potato crisps and the voice of a man on the radio leading him on and ever on.

 

“C’mon now boyo, I know it’s hard. I promise, just a few more steps. Would you kindly find a security camera? I need t’ locate ya’ if I’m gonna’ send you help.” Atlas scanned the wall of screens in front of him, keeping his eyes peeled for that white cable-knit sweater. Jackie finally shuffled into view, the sweater a bit worse for the wear. “Steady on now, _damn_ , but you’re a sight for sore eyes. I got ya’, boyo. Keep headin’ down that hallway. There’s a pneumo tube, I’ll send ya’ a kit.” Jack gave the camera an exhausted smile and a shy wave, like the damn child he was.

 

Always a little further to find him. Always _just_ out of reach.

 

_Fontaine is dead._

 

_Who is Atlas?_


	2. Mass Effect: Wishful Thinking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy N7 Day, everyone! Starring the scene that murdered anyone who romanced Alenko! Enjoy!

[Audio for 'About Horizon' can be found here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lvy9Pidiew4&t=45s)

 

* * *

 

 

The dream started the same every time. The only thing that changed was how he reacted to her.

 

He was screaming at her from across the Collector-strewn battlefield almost before he knew his body could move again. His biotics sang and raced over his skin with barely restrained power.

 

“ _Shepard!_ ” His voice cracked but her head still turned. Those eyes...it _was_ her. Back from the dead, scar-less, ' _a china-doll shadow_ ' was what Anderson had said. And no slight amount of anger in his words, at that. Cerberus had done more than overstep the bounds when they dragged Commander Shepard from the grave.

 

All that faded from Kaidan's mind as her eyes met his and widened gratifyingly. “ _Come_ _ **here!**_ ” He yelled.

 

Tears started pouring down her cheeks, making Kaidan grit his teeth against the residual paralysis and begin to limp his way across the field. He tripped on some loose debris, cursing as he almost lost his footing. Shepard seemed to come alive at that, bolting for him and leaving her gun behind. “ _Kaidan!_ ”

 

He caught her in his arms as she attempted to slide a hand to his shoulder to help him walk. “I know I'm being awful forward, Shepard. Forgive me later.” He choked out. Shepard nodded into his chest, biting her lip and allowing him to hold her. Her whole body shook with suppressed sobs. “Shhh, Shep. I can't even believe you're here. Let me have a few seconds with you before I wake up.” Kaidan whispered soothingly into her hair. “Just a few. I'll let you go soon.”

 

“Don't you d-d- _dare_ Alenk-ko.” Shepard hiccupped, glaring up at him. Kaidan's heart clenched painfully. He had missed that face so much.

 

He ran his finger across the bridge of her nose, smooth skin where there had once been a pink scar. She flushed at the familiar motion and he cupped her cheek to make her look at him. “I know. And I don't care.” Kaidan murmured.

 

_This is what I should have done._

 

Shepard's eyes filled with tears again and she clenched her jaw bravely. Her lower lip trembled when Kaidan bent slightly, searching her eyes with his own. “Shep...I uh...”

 

_You died. And yet I still got you back._

 

It was Shepard's turn to hush him, her eyes full of understanding. “It's alright Kaidan. I've missed you so much.”

 

“ _So_ damn much.” Kaidan echoed, pressing his lips to hers. He hoped she would close her eyes, so she wouldn't see him crying.

 

“Kaidan...” She breathed when they parted, the sound of her voice sending his biotics into a frenzy like it used to before…before everything.

 

Kaidan couldn’t even find the words, couldn’t get them out past the lump of survivor’s guilt in his throat, and the dream Shepard faded away. He was alone in his bunk, the blanket pulled up to his shoulders with his single pillow tucked into his chest in an attempt to mimic the feeling of the Commander’s body against his own.

 

Jerky flashes of Shepard’s last moments had followed him for the past two years. The way her body had plummeted to the planet far, far below, his frantic screaming reverberating in the escape pod as he watched her fall, watched her burn up and _die_.

 

Later, he had taken a grim solace in the fact that she was definitely dead of asphyxiation before she hit the atmosphere. In the moment, though, Kaidan had nearly lost every hard-earned ounce of his control, nearly ripped the pod apart with his biotics.

 

He vaguely recalled being brought to a Med bay _somewhere_ , his migraine at an intolerable level and the bright lights making him even more nauseous while someone slathered the back of his neck with medigel because he’d burned himself out, of course he had. Damn L2 implants, always failing at the _worst_ times. Chakwas, God bless her, she’d put a towel over his head to block out the light and give him some privacy to sob and dry heave like a good Alliance marine.

 

_Shepard_. The Commander had been the axis which his world rotated on. Losing her had thrown Kaidan into a nightmarish new world, one where people didn’t seem to be able to stop talking about ‘ _honoring her memory_ ’ and ‘ _it’s what she would have wanted_ ’.

 

It rang hollow. It always did.

 

The Council still didn’t seem to understand that the Reapers were _coming_. Sovereign hadn’t been a Geth dreadnought or whatever crap they were calling it this week. Whole _colonies_ were vanishing and the Council continued to twiddle their appendages over it. Some days Kaidan wanted to take every member of the Council by the shoulders and shake them back and forth while shouting _why won’t you do something?! How many more humans need to die before you’ll_ _ **do**_ _something?!_

 

And then the rumors had started circulating. About Shepard, and Cerberus. About Shepard working _for_ Cerberus. Kaidan didn’t believe it for the longest time. Even after Anderson had basically confirmed that the intel was legitimate by refusing to speak any further on it, Kaidan couldn’t wrap his head around it.

 

The attack on Horizon had _assisted_ in his comprehension. Because it was Shepard, it _was_ Shepard. Paler than he remembered, a little thinner. Dark circles under haunted eyes and missing her scar. Like an idiot ( _as usual_ ), Kaidan had reacted before he thought. He’d hugged her, and then pushed her away. So different from his dreams, where he held her and kissed her and just let his heart rest easy for a few minutes.

 

“ _You betrayed the Alliance. You betrayed_ _ **me!**_ ” He hadn’t meant to sound so infuriated. He was _hurt_ , of course he was hurt, he had _loved_ her. A part of him still did. A part of him that might be all of him.

 

“ _Kaidan, you know me._ ” She had pleaded with him and he’d looked away, unable to meet her eyes. “ _You know I’d only do this for the right reason_.”

 

“ _I know where my loyalties lie, Shepard._ ”

 

Didn’t that just sit bitter in his throat. Loyalty and duty and honor, always the good soldier Alenko. He knew where his loyalties laid.

 

_With Shepard_.

 

With the Alliance.

 

_Shepard_ , his heart begged while his mind shouted _Alliance!_ She was still doing good. Still working to stop the Collectors. Why the hell did he have to act like working with Cerberus was the ultimate betrayal? If he was being honest, the reason why he’d been so upset was because she hadn’t contacted him. Christ, it was selfish but _anything_.

 

Kaidan rubbed his eyes and rolled over onto his stomach, resting his head on his arm. The datapad beside him lit up when he pulled it closer, one eye shut as he began typing.

 

_Shepard,_

_I’m sorry for what I said back on Horizon…_

 

…

 

The message sat in his outbound box for _months_ , a little empty circle next to it to indicate that it was unread. He tried to forget about it. Sometimes he went a few days without checking. Kaidan was unsure if the address he’d sent it to was even functional anymore, but he had to at least try to apologize.

 

Not only because he’d loved her once ( _still loved her_ ), but because he was _wrong_ to accuse her if he didn’t know the whole story. She had brought up a valid point. The Shepard he had known ( _and loved_ ) would never sign on with a group like Cerberus unless she wholeheartedly believed there was a good reason to. He would just have to trust her judgement on this one.

 

And then one night, the circle was filled in.

 

Kaidan stayed up later than he intended to ( _cycling the inbox over and over_ ), woke up with bare minutes to prepare for his shift the next morning. Stumbling through the day in a bleary-eyed daze, he missed the _ping!_ on his Omni-tool.

 

So as he bedded down for the evening, the new message from that familiar address came as a definite shock. He sat bolt upright, then hunched over the datapad and hungrily absorbed the words in front of him.

 

_Kaidan,_

_Didn’t want to risk incriminating you while still on Cerberus’ payroll. Also didn’t have the guts to tell you. But we’re going through the Omega-4 relay in a little under an hour and I don’t know if I’m coming back from this one. This is selfish and stupid of me, I’m sorry. I know that if I_ _**don’t** _ _come back, this will only make things harder for you as far as moving on goes._

 

The _Omega-4?_ Kaidan’s stomach lurched. The Illusive Man was firing her and her crew off into deep space, Jesus Christ. A suicide mission.

 

_I love you so much, Kaidan. Your heart, your dedication to the Alliance, the way you were always my voice of reason. I’m so sorry that our time together was cut short. If I still have a chance with you, if I come back, I’d love to take you out for a night on the Citadel. Just you and me, drinks and my goofy dancing._

 

_If I don’t though, if I don’t come back or if my luck and the Illusive Bastard’s patience runs out, I need you to promise me that you’ll find someone else. Kaidan I don’t want you to hurt. I want you to be free and whole, not tethered to some old ghosts of a Commander._

 

Tears welled up in his eyes and the words in front of him blurred together into an unreadable mess. Kaidan tried to steady himself, tried to get a grip on his feelings. It did him no good to bawl his eyes out in his bunk room.

 

_I want you to be happy and safe._

 

A sob hitched in his chest, making his throat ache. Kaidan couldn’t help the wounded noise he let out.

 

_I love you, Kaidan._

 

She hadn’t signed the message. She never had before. That lent some credibility to the missive. Beneath the unfamiliar Cerberus armor was the woman he had loved ( _still loved_ ). And she was in _danger_. She hadn’t wanted him to worry but now, in a surprising flash of selfishness, she had damned the consequences and replied to him. The what-ifs ran hot and heavy through his mind for a minute.

 

All he could do now was wait, he realized grimly. Wait for her to come back from where no one had ever returned. Wait for her to send an all-clear. Wait for her.

 

_Wait for her._

 

For Shepard, he didn’t care how long it took.

 

_Shepard,_

_I’ll be counting on you to come home safe. For the both of us. I'm looking forward to some shore leave_ ...

 


	3. Fallout: Cait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first of a series of little things I wrote for a few of my favorite companions, answering the Anonymous ask: "I know you're a big Fallout fan, and I've always been super curious..a lot of the com[anions mention wanting things and I wondered if you've ever headcanoned about stuff like that the sole survivor would do for their companions??"
> 
> (The Sole Survivor mentioned will be gender-neutral, of course)

**Safety**

It was at the end of a long, difficult week escorting one of Sole’s caravans around. The trader had been nice enough, he wasn’t exactly one for conversation and that was how Cait liked it. She was soaked through with rain and super mutant gore and a thousand other unpleasant things she’d rather not name. The idea of a rinse in the icy Sanctuary river wasn’t _exactly_ appealing, but it was better than stewing in this filth. When the smell of blood got heavy in her nose it tended to give her loops, throw her mind back to the Combat Zone without so much as a by-your-leave. The jeering of the raiders, the hot, uneasy quiver of Psycho in her veins…

 

No, she was safe here. She was safe. Cait took a deep breath. She had been working harder on keeping a grip on reality since Sole had helped her get cleaned up. _They’re really something else_ , she admitted to herself. _Helping out some lowlife cage fighter like me. I don’t deserve it_. She was thoroughly immersed in her thoughts as she picked out some (probably) clean clothes from her battered dresser in Sole’s house. Sole had kindly labeled the furniture as ’ _Cait’s, Touch And Die_ ’ when they salvaged it, and set it up in their own bedroom so no one would rifle through it ‘accidentally’.

 

“If it isn’t my favorite asshole!” Sole always greeted her happily, good humor oozing from every pore. It would have been _infuriating_ if they weren’t so endearingly clad in a bright Vault suit, that disarming smile out and proud. “I have a surprise for you, for being such a good sport about that caravan.”

 

“Oh, y’ don’t have t–”

 

“I insist! C'mon, bring those clothes and follow me.” Sole, heedless of the rank filth that covered their companion from head to toe, took Cait’s hand and led her back down the hallway to the bathroom door. “Preston and I _finally_ got the old pipes unclogged and patched. Check it out! I can’t guarantee steaming hot water, of course, but lukewarm is better than nothing right? I snagged some soap too, I think you’ll like it.” Sole pressed a small, wax-paper wrapped bar into Cait’s hand. “Welcome home.” They said, that smile still in place.

 

“I…” Cait was at a loss for words. “Home?” She finally managed to croak.

 

“Yep!” Sole replied cheerily. “A nice, safe place for you to wash up. I can even stand watch at the door, if you’d like. Although it locks, so you should be f-”

 

Cait pulled them into a fierce hug, burying her face in their hair. “Y’ don’t know how much this means t’ me.” She mumbled after a second. “I…thank ye so much.”


	4. Fallout: Curie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another in a series of little things I wrote for a few of my favorite companions, answering the Anonymous ask: "I know you're a big Fallout fan, and I've always been super curious..a lot of the com[anions mention wanting things and I wondered if you've ever headcanoned about stuff like that the sole survivor would do for their companions??"
> 
> (The Sole Survivor mentioned will be gender-neutral, of course)

**Rest**

“Hey, take a breather.” Curie emerged from a pile of research papers, her eyes slightly unfocused and short hair mussed. Sole chuckled, offering her a hand. “You doing okay?”

 

“I am on zee edge of a scientific breakthrough, I cannot rest.” Curie protested wearily, rubbing her tired eyes once Sole hauled her to her feet.

 

“Oho, yes you can. Funny thing about writing stuff down, my little genius. It’ll still be there when you return from a five minute snack break.” Sole chided gently.

 

“But my train of thought! I am already so easily distracted.” Curie didn’t mean to _wail_ , but she had such incredible trouble focusing to begin with. All these feelings, emotions, clouded her brilliant scientific mind with _nonsense!_ This body was always clamoring for something as well, she needed to do silly things like _eat_ and _sleep_ and it was all so exasperating!

 

Sole just brought Curie over to her overstuffed chair, where they had set up a small plate of carrot sticks and a cup of purified water. “Remember, carrots are good for your eyes. And hydration is key.” They insisted, settling the scientist into the chair with a stern expression. “Five minutes.”

 

“Oh, _fine_.” Curie huffed, obediently putting a carrot stick into her mouth and chewing vigorously. She knew she didn’t _have_ to do as Sole said, regardless of what the vestiges of old programming told her. But she also knew that Sole had her best interests at heart, they had proved that time and again. So she sat, drank her water, ate her carrot sticks, and lavished Dogmeat with attention for being such a good assistant. She abruptly bolted upright from the chair, startling Sole with her rapid motion. “What if we could modify the Stimpacks to be more effective for animals? Like livestock? Or pets? Is my five minutes up?!” She asked Sole frantically.

 

“It’s been half an hour. I’d say you’re recharged. Go on.” Sole laughed, making a shooing motion. “And yes, you can borrow Dogmeat.”

 


	5. Fallout: Paladin Danse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another in a series of little things I wrote for a few of my favorite companions, answering the Anonymous ask: "I know you're a big Fallout fan, and I've always been super curious..a lot of the com[anions mention wanting things and I wondered if you've ever headcanoned about stuff like that the sole survivor would do for their companions??"
> 
> (The Sole Survivor mentioned will be gender-neutral, of course)

**Praise**

Sole had assigned him to manage the perimeter patrols for the Starlight Drive-In and by God, he was going to make that settlement the most secure area in the Commonwealth. After all, most of Sole’s caravans were connected to this base. Not to mention it was their agricultural hub! The location was vital to the survival of many, _many_ people and the Paladin was of the impression that failure was not an option. Certainly, he’d run himself a little ragged. Maybe shouldered more responsibility than he needed to. He could have easily delegated the outer patrol, it wasn’t as if they had a shortage of able-bodied individuals in the settlement. But that was his nature.

 

Early one morning there was a disturbance at the gates. Understatement of the _century_ , it was an alpha deathclaw that Danse had failed to notice setting up camp close by, the creature sashaying up the road like it owned the place. The Paladin was exhausted, he’d been operating at maximum capacity for far too long with little to no sleep. Danse knew outright that he was _not_ at his best but he rose to the challenge all the same, the Paladin standing tall in front of the heavily-fortified gates while he faced down the ferocious beast.

 

It was an ugly fight that drained his fusion core entirely, the man’s power-less Power Armor ending up pinned to the outer wall while the deathclaw roared at him triumphantly. Danse strained to reach his laser rifle, the weapon mere inches away from his gauntlet but just out of reach. _All those people inside are going to die_.

 

The deathclaw’s noise stopped abruptly, Danse noting in confusion that the point of a blade protruded from the front of its throat. Sole’s head popped up over the huge creature’s shoulder, the Vault suit-clad individual offering him a wave with a ichor-drenched hand. “Looks like I got here just in time, huh?”

 

“ _Outstanding_.” Danse couldn’t help it, the word tumbling out of him in relief as the deathclaw collapsed and Sole got to their feet.

 

“I’ve been hearing things, Paladin. Things like you’re refusing sleep shifts.” And really, it ought to have been comical that the Knight was attempting to upbraid him for his sleep patterns while spattered with steaming deathclaw remains. But now that the adrenaline had abandoned him all Danse could do was nod, his shoulders drooping a little. “It’s okay. Listen, you come inside here with me, we’ll get you into a sleeping bag and everything will be alright.” Sole assured him, the steady tone of their voice a comfort while they wiped the blade of that deadly officer’s sword on the brown grass.

 

“But…the deathclaw-”

 

“I’ll send a couple folks out to butcher it. No worries. Now get your ass out of that Armor and into bed. I’m here. That means everyone is safe, yeah? _Including_ you. You’ve done damn good, Paladin. Kept everyone secure and raised the defenses.” Sole lightly swatted his shoulder, their hand making a quiet ringing noise on his pauldron. “Place looks like a fucking _fortress_. Outstanding, Paladin.”

 

“I…thank you, Knight.”


	6. Fallout: Porter Gage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another in a series of little things I wrote for a few of my favorite companions, answering the Anonymous ask: "I know you're a big Fallout fan, and I've always been super curious..a lot of the com[anions mention wanting things and I wondered if you've ever headcanoned about stuff like that the sole survivor would do for their companions??"
> 
> (The Sole Survivor mentioned will be gender-neutral, of course)

**Rescue**

“Well, this sure as shit could be better.”

 

“It could be worse, too.”

 

Gage grimaced up at the Sole Survivor. “Not sure how you figure that, Boss.” He muttered, doing his best to ignore the snapping gatorclaw that kept slamming its huge jaws shut mere inches from his ankle. “Kinda’ wishin’ I didn’t wear so much gear now. Maybe I’d be able to pull myself up.”

 

“I just need a second. I promise I’m not going to let this overgrown gecko eat my trusted adviser.” Sole was reloading their gun even as they spoke.

 

Gage’s knuckles whitened with his grip on the cage and he closed his eye tightly. “I ain’t sayin’ I’m a _goner_ or nothin’, Boss, but I’m bleedin’ pretty bad and it might be a better option to let-”

 

Sole’s fingers wrapped around his forearm, their heels braced in the gaps between the bars of the cage. “I’m _not_ letting you get fall.” Sole grunted firmly, aiming their gun at the gatorclaw. “Nobody except you thought I would succeed as Overboss. Need you around so people take me seriously. I think it’s the primary colors.” They tucked their chin down to gesture at the bright blue and yellow Vault suit. “Also you have great ideas and a real talent for hard work.” They continued once they had blown the brains out of the gatorclaw.

 

Gage was stunned silent, just allowing himself to be hauled onto the roof of the cage. Sole began working him over right then and there, unbolting chunks of his armor to access his blown-out shoulder. “Boss, what the _fuck_.” He managed to growl. “I ain’t supposed to be alright with sacrificin’ myself for _anybody_. The hell did you do to me? Makin’ me fuckin’ soft.”

 

“No, you _trusted_ me. You knew that I wasn’t about to let you be gator chow.” Sole rolled their eyes at him. “It’s cute that you’re so worried about being dependent that you made yourself believe you were being selfless, instead of admitting that you trust someone else to keep your head above water.”

 

“You can’t exactly _blame_ me, Boss.” Gage protested. “I mean, _shit_.” He kept grumbling to himself while Sole continued to patch him up, and he was fairly certain they didn’t even hear his quiet, grudging, “ _Thanks_.”


	7. Fallout: MacCready

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another in a series of little things I wrote for a few of my favorite companions, answering the Anonymous ask: "I know you're a big Fallout fan, and I've always been super curious..a lot of the com[anions mention wanting things and I wondered if you've ever headcanoned about stuff like that the sole survivor would do for their companions??"
> 
> (The Sole Survivor mentioned will be gender-neutral, of course)

**Kindness**

He always complained about Sole making him wade through muck and grime, but he’d never expected anything quite like this in return for all his bi… _whining_. His boots had been cleaned! Polished, even! Were those new laces?!

 

Sole had some stains on their fingers where the polish had seeped through the rag they had used, the excited grin on their face warming MacCready more than he wanted to admit. “I know I’ve been dragging you all over creation since you signed on, figured I’d fix up your shitkickers.” They held up a hand at MacCready’s worried expression. “And no, this isn’t coming out of your paycheck or whatever you’re concerned about. I know you’re saving up for something important. This one’s on me, as a thank you for keeping me alive.”

 

“I can’t even believe this!” MacCready said incredulously. “Holy sh–uh, I mean, _wow_ , you’re…you might just be the best.” After running with the Gunners he was leery of accepting any sort of gift or letting someone have one up on him, kindness tended to make him uneasy because he knew, he _knew_ that _no one_ was nice just for the sake of being nice.

 

Sole was a strange exception in this world. They were so selfless and generous he feared he was taking advantage of them. In the beginning that had been okay, heck, MacCready almost felt like karma was finally rewarding him with a sucker to pay his bills. But as they ran together and Mac learned more about how Sole operated, he realized that they weren’t just some pre-war dunce. They _cared_ about people, without giving a single thought to the fact that nowadays that was absolutely the most dangerous thing one could do.

 

“You’re an incredible person, you know that?” He finally mumbled sincerely, running a finger over one of the patched seams on his boots. “Thank you so much.”


	8. Fallout: X6-88

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another in a series of little things I wrote for a few of my favorite companions, answering the Anonymous ask: "I know you're a big Fallout fan, and I've always been super curious..a lot of the com[anions mention wanting things and I wondered if you've ever headcanoned about stuff like that the sole survivor would do for their companions??"
> 
> (The Sole Survivor mentioned will be gender-neutral, of course)

**Unique**

This exercise was _pointless_. Asinine, even. X6 folded his arms and leaned sulkily against the wall. He could easily pick up another pair of sunglasses from the Institute requisition area, they didn’t _need_ to find his old ones.

 

This was the fourth glorified hovel they had been in, but Sole tended to keep in close circles with shops due to their supply runs. They had suggested that X6-88’s sunglasses might be warming a lost and found somewhere. Which led to them explaining the purpose of a lost and found. X6 found the concept idiotic. _Surely_ if you lost something, you couldn’t be trusted with it to begin with and it was better off in the clutches of its new owners.

 

At least, that’s how he had thought before he misplaced his sunglasses. “This is a waste of time.” He said through clenched teeth when Sole returned shaking their head. “We should return to the Institute, reload, and then proceed.”

 

“It’s not right that someone walked off with your things. I want to get those glasses back. You need them!” Sole snapped, obviously upset but still trying to keep their voice down. “I know it’s bright up here for you and that sometimes the sun hurts your eyes. I feel dumb because I didn’t think to bring an extra pair.”

 

“Maintaining my gear is my own responsibility. I am not less effective without them.” X6-88 had an odd sensation in his throat. _They must have noticed my squinting. Unfortunate. If they have been worried about me, this will decrease their combat efficiency._

 

“Yeah, but there’s this thing called personal preference. I know it might not be a huge deal to you just yet, but you _like_ your sunglasses. To an extent, you _need_ your sunglasses. And I’m finding your… _wait_.” Sole’s eyes narrowed as they took in the new individual who had just waltzed into the shop. Gunner, dressed in dirty fatigues, a pseudo-military mishmash of combat armor and _sunglasses_.

 

_His_ sunglasses. X6 was certain of it, the right lens frame bore a distinct chip from where a bullet had grazed it. He felt mild irritation, but–

 

Sole had begun to _growl_. “Hold my beer and watch this.”

 

“You don’t have-”

 

“It’s an _expression_.” Sole interrupted, their tone one of fond exasperation. X6 had yet to understand a multitude of their pre-war sayings. The gunner stalked to the storekeeper’s counter, his body language already swaggering and hostile. This man believed he was the best, anyone could see that. But Sole didn’t care. Sole marched right up to the man and pointed at the sunglasses on his face with one quick snap of their wrist. “Those don’t belong to you.” They said, sounding almost petulant.

 

“Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?” The gunner hissed, reaching for the knife that he believed still jutted from the sheath on the side of his combat armor.

 

“I would not advise that course of action.” X6 murmured, nonchalantly examining the blade he’d slipped free while the gunner was preoccupied. “You can have this back, in exchange for my sunglasses.”

 

“All I fuckin’ did was pick them up-”

 

“-and now you can return them to their rightful _fucking_ owner.” Sole held out their hand, and the gunner stared them down for an intense couple of seconds before finally snarling under his breath and pulling the sunglasses off.

 

He cracked a mean grin and proceeded to crush the glasses in one large fist, broken fragments of the tinted lenses landing in Sole’s outstretched palm. “There ya’ go.” He sniggered, very satisfied with himself. “You never asked for 'em back in one piece.”

 

Sole’s face bore a heartbreaking mixture of distress and confusion, as though they couldn’t believe that the gunner had done that. X6 hated that expression more than he hated most things above ground, which was saying something.

 

The courser ‘returned’ the gunner’s property in a similarly destructive fashion, easily penetrating the man’s chest plating with the ragged tip of the blade before ramming it home. “And you never asked for your knife back in a manner that would not be detrimental to your health.” X6 said calmly as the gunner squealed and began to cough violently, blood pouring down the front of his armor. “I told you, Director, just a quick trip back and everything will be back to the way it was. Don’t cry over spilled beer.”

 

“It’s spilled _milk_ , X6.” Sole sniffled.

 

“I don’t know what that is.” X6-88 wrinkled his nose after Sole explained milk to him. “That doesn’t sound appealing at all. But then again, neither is beer.” He paused, then pressed on. “I’m uncomfortable with you putting yourself in harms way over something as trivial as my sunglasses. I…in the future I will do my best to keep track of them so we may avoid further altercations with the Commonwealth riffraff.” Another pause. _Why_ was he so nervous all of a sudden? “Thank you.”


End file.
